f. 


>v 


I 


\ 3 


A 


S E R M 0 N 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH 


IiEV.  EDWIN  II . CRANE, 


MISSIONARY  TO  TIIE  NESTORIANS. 


PREACHED  AT 

S E I R , PERSIA, 

SEPTEMBER  17,  1854. 


B Y 


EEY.  SAMUEL  A.  RHEA 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  P.  JEWETT  AND  COMPANY. 
CLEVELAND,  OHIO: 

JEWETT,  PROCTOR  AND  WORTHINGTON. 

1 8 5 5. 

• 

. 


CAMBRIDGE: 


ALLEN  AND  FARNHAM,  PRINTERS. 


SERMON. 


ACTS  13:25. 

And  being  fervent  in  tiie  spirit,  he  spake  and  taught  diligently 

THE  THINGS  OF  THE  LORD. 

Beloved  brethren  and  sisters, — 

The  occasion  which  has  called  us  together  to-day,  is  one  of 
sad  and  solemn  interest.  We  come  to  mourn  the  loss  of  our 
dear  departed  brother  Crane,  and  in  few  and  simple  words  to 
embalm  his  precious  memory.  But  a few  brief  weeks  since, 
we  met  in  this  place  to  weep  over  the  death  of  our  beloved 
brother  Stocking,  one  among  the  oldest,  and,  in  the  privilege  of 
toils  and  sacrifices,  one  among  the  most  honored  of  our  number. 
Now  we  meet  to  weep  at  the  early  grave  of  our  youngest  mis- 
sionary brother,  cut  down  at  the  very  opening  of  vigorous  man- 
hood, full  of  joyous  hopes,  having  just  girded  on  his  armor,  and 
wielded  it  long  enough  to  show  us,  that,  if  spared,  he  would 
prove  a most  valiant  soldier  of  the  cross  of  Jesus. 

Indeed,  when  we  think  how  tenderly  he  had  endeared  him- 
self to  us  and  the  Nestorians,  in  the  brief  period  he  was  per- 
mitted to  spend  with  us,  as  a genial  friend,  a consecrated 
Christian,  a fervent  and  energetic  laborer  in  the  vineyard  of  our 
Lord ; and  when  we  think  of  the  very  pressing  wants  of  the 
mountain  field,  and  his  eminent  qualifications  to  meet  those 
wants,  how  very  heavy  the  loss  to  our  mission,  to  our  work,  to 


4 


our  own  hearts,  and  more  than  all,  to  the  widowed  heart  of  our 
sorely  stricken  sister,  we  cannot  but  feel  it  is  an  occasion  on 
which  our  tears  of  most  heartfelt  grief  may  freely  flow. 

God,  in  the  silent  majesty  of  His  power,  and  the  deep  mys- 
teriousness of  His  dispensations,  has  come  very  near  to  us. 
We  stand  amazed  at  His  strange  dealing,  and  yet  we  bow 
down  our  bruised  hearts  in  silent  submission,  knowing  that  He 
doeth  all  things  well.  It  is  His  to  speak  to  us  in  solemn  admo- 
nition ; it  is  ours,  with  the  broken  and  contrite  heart,  to  tremble 
at  His  word. 

When  we  endeavor  to  recall  our  departed  brother,  we  love  to 
think  of  him  as  the  devoted  husband,  the  affectionate  friend, 
the  congenial  associate,  the  meek  and  childlike  Christian,  but 
perhaps  more  than  all,  as  God’s  young  missionary  servant,  fer- 
vent in  the  spirit,  and  teaching  diligently  the  things  of  the  Lord. 
Let  us  endeavor  to  trace  as  concisely  as  may  be,  an  outline  of 
his  life,  labors,  and  character. 

The  Reverend  Edwin  H.  Crane  was  born  May  30,  1825, 
in  Westmoreland,  Oneida  county,  New  York.  His  father, 
the  Reverend  Abijah  Crane,  was  for  many  years  an  able  and 
devoted  pastor  in  Central  New  York,  and  for  the  last  fifteen 
years  of  his  life  a most  efficient  agent  of  the  American  Home 
Missionary  Society  in  that  region.  In  all  those  churches  which 
he  visited,  and  in  a large  circle  of  Christian  acquaintances  and 
friends,  his  memory  is  still  fragrant.  He  was  eminently  a man 
of  God,  and  he  left  to  his  son,  of  all  legacies  the  best,  that  of  a 
holy,  venerated  character.  It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  intro- 
duce here  an  extract  from  an  address,  composed  of  commemo- 
rative notices  of  deceased  alumni  of  Middlebury  College,  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Hough,  formerly  one  of  its  professors.  He  says, 
“ He  was  eminently  marked  by  the  possession  of  energy,  and 
enterprise,  and  perseverance,  and  lie  is  a memorable  example  of 
a man,  not  gifted  with  a superior  order  of  intellect,  accomplish- 
ing much  for  the  church,  and  securing  for  himself  a wide  and 
desirable  reputation.  His  character,  as  a religious  man,  in  the 
estimation  I was  led  to  form  of  it,  was  eminent,  and  it  greatly 
aided  in  rendering  him  a Jealous,  an  impressive,  and  acceptable 


preacher.  Mr.  Crane  designed,  it  is  said,  to  have  entered  the 
missionary  field,  and  had  offered  himself  for  employment  to  the 
A.  B.  C.  F.  M.,  and  was  for  a season  engaged  in  their  service, 
as  an  agent  in  Western  New  York.  But  for  considerations 
not  indicating  either  instability  of  purpose,  or  any  deficiency 
of  interest  in  the  missionary  enterprise,  he  relinquished  his 
purpose,  and  settled  as  pastor  of  a church  in  Westmoreland, 
Oneida  county,  New  York.”  With  reference  to  his  services 
while  engaged  as  an  agent  of  the  A.  II.  M.  Society  he  says, 

“ I never  heard  it  suggested  that,  during  this  period  in  his  inter- 
course with  the  churches,  he  sought  to  promote  any  interests 
but  those  of  truth  and  goodness,  or  to  secure  any  other  objects 
than  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  men.”  For  this 
father,  our  departed  brother  ever  cherished  the  deepest  rever- 
ence, and  his  godly  walk  made  upon  his  youthful  heart,  and 
upon  his  riper  years,  a deep  and  lasting  impression.  Bearing, 
to  a marked  degree,  in  his  person,  the  features  of  his  godly 
parent,  he  bore  to  him  a striking  resemblance  in  the  cast  of  his 
excellent  judgment,  and  his  sound,  clear,  discriminating  mind  ; 
but  perhaps  more  than  all,  in  his  Christian  character,  marked  as 
it  eminently  was,  by  singleness  of  purpose,  decision,  and  great 
consecration.  No  less  favored  was  our  beloved  brother  in  being 
gifted  with'  a devotedly  pious  mother,  whom  he  loved  with 
uncommon  tenderness,  and  whose  name  of  all  others  was  the 
most  endeared.  We  find  a very  touching  allusion  to  these 
godly  parents,  showing  at  once  the  depth  and  strength  of  his 
filial  devotion,  and  his  appreciation  of  their  great  worth.  He 
had  reached  manhood,  and  on  the  22d  anniversary  of  his  birth, 
referring  to  the  year  just  passed,  he  says,  “ Near  its  commence- 
ment my  mother,  my  dear,  dear  mother,  that  mother  to  whom  I 
owed  more  than  to  any  other  earthly  being,  and  who  was  knit 
to  my  heart  by  the  cords  of  most  tender  affection,  suddenly 
departed.  How  devoted  her  piety ! May  it  be  mine  to  emu- 
late it.  How  untiring  was  her  care  of  her  dear  family  group. 
May  I receive  them  as  her  legacy.  O,  my  mother  1 how  can  I 
ever  forget  thy  precious  instructions  ? How  can  I restrain  the 
tear  as  I think  of  thy  Christian  love  ? Departed,  happy  saint ! 
perchance  this  year  thou  hast  watched  over  thy  erring  son  as  a • 

1* 


6 


guardian  angel,  impressing  truth  upon  his  heart,  showing  him 
the  emptiness  of  earth,  and  restraining  him  from  open  sin,  when 
his  feet  had  wellnigh  slipped.  And  my  father,  too,  with  whom 
more  than  any  human  being,  my  soul  sympathized,  suddenly 
called  to  rest  from  his  labors,  a holy  man,  now  doubtless  rejoic- 
ing in  a blissful  immortality.  O that  it  might  be  mine  to  be 
as  useful ! ” 

We  know  how  such  parents  would  pray  and  labor  for  the 
conversion  of  their  first-born  son.  God  heard  their  prayers, 
and  remembered  His  holy  covenant,  and  it  was  their  unspeak- 
ably blessed  privilege  to  see  him,  at  the  early  age  of  thirteen 
years,  consecrating  his  young  heart  to  the  service  of  the  God  of 
his  fathers,  and  with  them  setting  his  face  steadfastly  towards 
the  heavenly  city.  Before  he  had  completed  his  fifteenth  year, 
having  finished  his  preparatory  studies  in  the  academy  of  his 
native  village,  he  entered  Hamilton  College.  Of  these  four 
years,  our  record  is  brief.  We  know,  however,  that  here  he 
was  diligent  in  his  studies,  beloved  as  a genial  companion  and 
friend,  highly  respected  by  the  faculty  and  his  fellow-students, 
and  that  he  left  his  alma  mater,  bearing  upon  his  brow  some  of 
her  choicest  laurels  ; but  more  than  all,  he  passed  out  from  the 
great  temptations  incident  to  college  life  with  the  robe  of  his 
Christian  profession  unsullied. 

The  years  which  intervened  between  his  leaving  college  and 
his  entering  Auburn  Theological  Seminary,  were  employed 
chiefly  in  teaching  and  in  travelling;  and  here,  as  in  former  and 
later  years,  we  find  the  same  conscientious  discharge  of  duty, 
the  same  heroic  spirit  in  meeting  the  obstacles  which  lay  in  his 
way  to  the  goal  of  his  fond  hopes.  They  were  years  of  toil 
and  self-sacrifice,  not  to  promote  any  mere  selfish  schemes,  but 
to  secure  the  means  of  fitting  himself  to  be  a preacher  of  the 
everlasting  gospel.  During  these  years  his  mind  was  often  per- 
plexed as  to  the  choice  of  his  profession,  and  from  some  brief 
records  he  has  left  us,  we  get  glimpses  of  that  severe  struggle 
he  underwent,  before  he  saw  it  clearly  his  duty  to  be  an  ambas- 
sador of  the  Lord  Jesus.  No  young  servant  of  our  Lord  ever 
pondered  more  thoughtfully  the  solemnity  of  the  work,  or  put 
out  his  hand  more  tremblingly  to  touch  the  sacred  ark  of  God. 


7 


He  felt  his  unworthiness ; he  would  gladly  have  escaped,  at  one 
time,  from  those  momentous  responsibilities  which  seemed  to 
him  crushing;  but  Christ  strengthened  him,  and  after  a conflict 
long,  intense,  but  triumphant,  his  last  doubt  was  dispelled,  and 
he  gave  himself,  with  whole-souled  energy,  to  preparation  for 
the  ministry,  his  call  to  whose  sacred  duties  he  never  afterwards 
doubted.  He  entered  Auburn  Seminary  in  1848.  Here  his 
progress  in  holiness  was  marked  and  rapid.  How  ardent  and 
intense  were  his  breathings  after  personal  and  whole-hearted 
consecration ! IIow  he  longed  that  his  will  might  be  swallowed 
up  in  God’s  will,  and  he  delivered  from  the  power  of  sin ! We 
have,  in  some  brief  and  transient  records  of  this  period,  enough 
to  know  that  they  were  years  of  unceasing  conflict  with  sin, 
and  stragglings  after  higher  attainments  in  that  life  of  perfect 
love,  for  which  he  so  ardently  panted.  No  pressure  of  seminary 
duties  kept  him  away  from  his  Bible  and  his  closet,  or  led  him 
to  slacken  the  reins  he  held  with  so  steady  a hand,  ever  aiming 
to  bring  every  thought  in  captivity  to  the  obedience  of  Christ. 
For  some  time  he  consecrated  himself  to  the  home  missionary 
field.  The  desolations,  and  the  loud  calls  from  the  great  West, 
appealed  tenderly  to  his  heart,  and  that,  he  fondly  hoped,  was  to 
be  the  field  of  his  toils.  But  by  and  by  other  cries  for  help  fell 
upon  his  ears.  The  far-ort’  desolations  of  heathen  lands  rose 
up  before  him.  From  all  quarters,  voices  of  entreaty  from  the 
perishing  touched  his  heart  still  more  tenderly,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  presented  himself  before  the  Lord,  saying,  “ Here 
am  I,  send  me.”  We  cannot  suppose  that  our  brother  came  to 
this  decision  without  a severe  conflict.  There  were  reasons  of 
a very  tender  and  affecting  character,  which  might  detain  him 
in  his  native  land.  He  had  a beloved  step-mother  and  seven 
brothers  and  sisters,  left  without  a husband  and  a father,  and  he 
felt  that  their  claims  upon  him  were  strong.  Being  the  oldest, 
his  younger  brothers  and  sisters  would  naturally  look  to  him  as 
their  guardian,  and,  in  some  measure,  to  take  the  place  of  then- 
devoted  parent,  of  whom  they  had  been  suddenly  bereaved.  Of 
Mrs.  Crane,  the  second  wife  of  Rev.  Abijah  Crane,  and  of  the 
very  high  esteem  and  devoted  affection  cherished  for  her  by  our 
departed  brother,  we  could  hardly  speak  in  terms  of  exaggera- 


8 


tion.  How  often  did  he  delight  to  dwell  upon  her  virtues! 
How  often  did  he  speak  of  the  powerful  influence  her  tender 
walk  with  God  had  had  upon  him ! How  his  eye  kindled  with 
joy,  when,  upon  the  arrival  of  our  monthly  post,  he  received  one 
of  her  much  prized  letters,  always  so  fragrant  with  the  very 
spirit  of  our  Lord  Jesus ! 

To  tear  himself  away  from  such  a mother,  and  from  that 
loved  circle  of  brothers  and  sisters  so  devotedly  attached  to  him, 
was  indeed  applying  the  knife  to  the  tenderest  cords  of  the 
heart.  But  our  brother  did  not  shrink  from  this  heavy  sacrifice. 
He  appreciated  their  sympathies ; he  heard  with  gentleness 
then  kind  entreaties,  for  his  own  heart  bled  with  theirs;  and  yet, 
with  a faith  simple  and  sublime,  he  committed  them  to  his 
covenant-keeping  God,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  the 
unspeakable  privilege  of  being  assured  of  their  most  heartfelt 
sympathies  in  all  his  plans. 

The  question  of  his  becoming  a foreign  missionary  was 
decided  during  his  last  year  in  Auburn  Seminary.  He  gradu- 
ated in  1851,  having  been  selected  by  the  Literary  Association 
to  represent  it  on  the  occasion  of  the  anniversary.  He  was 
ordained  a missionary  to  the  Nestorians,  May  28,  1851.  The 
greater  part  of  the  time  he  was  detained  in  America  after  his 
appointment,  was  spent  in  pastoral  labors  in  connection  with 
the  Congregrational  church  in  Cassville.  Most  faithfully  did  he 
go  in  and  out,  an  under-shepherd  to  that  little  flock  of  the 
Lord  Jesus,  feeding  the  church  of  God,  being  instant  in  season 
and  out  of  season,  reproving,  rebuking,  exhorting,  with  all  long- 
suffering  and  doctrine.  In  all  his  public  ministrations,  in  his 
visits  from  house  to  house,  and  his  close,  faithful  conversation 
with  the  impenitent,  he  showed  that  he  watched  for  souls,  as 
one  that  must  give  account,  that  he  might  do  it  with  joy,  and 
not  with  grief.  His  labors  were  not  in  vain  in  the  Lord.  He 
showed  himself,  through  the  grace  of  God,  wise  to  win  souls. 
That  little  church,  under  his  faithful  ministrations,  enjoyed  a 
precious  refreshing  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord,  and  sixteen 
souls  were  gathered  into  the  kingdom.  Thus  early  did  God 
give  to  His  young  servant  the  seals  of  that  holy  ministry  upon 
which  he  was  just  entering,  and  the  pledge  of  what  he  might 


9 


be  pleased  to  accomplish,  through  Him,  for  the  benighted  people 
among  whom  he  was  to  spend  his  life. 

For  a time  it  was  a question  whether  he  would  be  permitted 
to  realize  the  ardent  hopes  he  had  cherished  of  planting  his  feet, 
a messenger  of  glad  tidings,  upon  the  mountains  of  Koordistan. 
God  seemed  to  thwart  his  plans.  This  was  to  him  a sore  trial, 
and  yet  he  bore  it  most  meekly,  committing  his  way  unto  the 
Lord,  assured  that  lie  would  direct  his  steps.  lie  dfd  direct 
them,  and  permit  him  to  realize  his  fondest  anticipations. 

He  was  united  in  marriage  to  iVtiss  Ann  Eliza  Cowles, 
daughter  of  Mr.  Elisha  Cowles,  of  Otisco,  N.  Y.,  February  22, 
1852,  sailed  from  Boston  May  31st,  and  reached  Oroomiah 
October  20,  1852. 

And  now,  beloved  brethren  and  sisters,  we  have  reached  a 
point,  from  which  you  will  accompany  me  with  a more  appre- 
ciating sympathy  and  interest.  From  this  time  until  he  gently 
passed  away  from  us,  we  all  knew  him,  and  we  all  loved  him. 
We  all  remember,  from  his  first  appearance  among  us,  how  we 
were  impressed  with  h^  energy,  his  singleness  of  purpose,  and 
his  devotedness  to  the  Nestorians.  It  was  not  long  after  his 
arrival  here,  that  he  made  a short  visit  to  the  mountain  field. 
No  one  could  have  seen  him  on  that  journey,  and  on  his  first 
greeting  the  Nestorians,  and  the  happy  days  he  spent  in  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  his  field,  without  feeling  that  he  was  deeply 
attached  to  it,  and  that  he  would  prove  a heroic  and  whole- 
souled  fellow-laborer. 

With  great  enthusiasm  he  applied  himself  to  the  study  of 
the  Syriac,  not  merely  attending  to  all  the  grammatical  niceties 
of  the  language  in  his  study,  but  throwing  himself  also  among 
the  people,  where,  from  their  own  lips,  he  would  catch  its 
striking  idioms,  and  from  close,  personal  contact,  drink  in  its 
spirit  and  power.  It  was  but  a fewr  short  months  after  he 
entered  upon  the  study  of  the  language,  I think  not  more  than 
seven  or  eight,  before  he  took  part  in  conducting  our  religious 
services.  He  was  often  urged  to  do  so  earlier,  and  he  might 
have  done  so  with  acceptance  to  the  people,  but  he  always 
replied,  with  his  characteristic  modesty,  “ I am  not  yet  ready  to 
preach  ; I will  be  content  with  talking  yet  awhile.”  His  acqui- 


10 


sitions  in  the  language  were  not  only  rapid,  but,  to  a marked 
degree,  accurate,  and  he  soon  became  able  to  use  it  with  im- 
pressive power  and  great  acceptance  to  the  Nestorians.  And 
here  I cannot  refrain  from  calling  your  attention  to  the  three 
hymns  composed  for  the  Syriac  hymn-book,  recently  printed,  so 
sweet  and  heavenly  in  sentiment,- and  so  expressive  in  style. 
We  can  hardly  suppose  him  to  have  been  in  other  than  a very 
heavenly  frame  of  mind  when  he  composed  them,  especially 
the  sweet  hymn  entitled,  “ God,  my  father.”  They  seem  to 
flow  out,  like  gentle  streamlets,  from  the  fountain  of  his  own 
heart’s  experience  at  that  time. 

He  joined  his  associate,  in  the  mountains,  in  the  February 
after  his  arrival,  and  spent  some  two  months  and  a half  away 
from  his  family.  In  July,  for  the  first  time,  Mrs.  Crane  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  seeing  the  field  of  labor  towards  which  she  had  been 
so  long  looking,  and  to  which  she  became  so  ardently  attached. 
Our  brother  fondly  hoped  that  now  he  might  make  his  home  in 
the  mountains;  but  he  had  spent  but  a few  days  with  his  family, 
when  it  was  deemed  no  longer  secure  to  remain  there,  and  sor- 
rowingly  he  retired  with  his  family  from  the  field.  But  his 
ardor  of  attachment  was  unabated.  That  same  week  he  was 
again  on  the  ground,  devoting  himself  with  undiminished  zeal 
to  his  work.  In  September  he  again  brought  his  family  to  the 
mountains,  and  ‘enjoyed  the  great  privilege  of  spending  three 
quiet  months  in  those  labors  in  which  he  so  much  delighted. 
During  those  months  he  devoted  himself  to  the  multitudes  of 
travelling  mountaineers,  who  were  constantly  passing  through 
the  village,  and  on  the  Sabbath  visited  the  surrounding  villages  ; 
a work  in  which,  as  yet,  little  progress  has  been  made,  on 
account  of  the  opposition  of  the  people. 

lie  again  indulged  the  fond  hope  that  he  might  be  permitted 
to  remain  with  his  family  during  the  winter;  but  after  the  win- 
ter had  set  in,  and  the  snow  had  fallen  a foot  deep,  and  the 
tempests  had  already  swept  down  from  the  mountains,  it  was 
deemed  impracticable  for  Mrs.  Crane  to  remain  there  alone,  and 
lie  again  sorrowingly,  yet  cheerfully,  with  his  little  family, 
turned  his  back  upon  the  mountains.  But  it  was  again  only 
for  a short  time.  Seeing  them  comfortably  provided  for,  he 


11 


bid  them  adieu  in  haste,  and  was  soon  again  at  his  post,  as 
ever,  the  happy,  joyous  servant  of  Him  he  loved  to  serve.  One 
might  suppose,  from  the  cheerful  courage  he  kept  up,  these 
trials  but  slightly  affected  him;  but  his  heart  was  strung  with 
tender  sensibilities,  and  though  he  was  ever  slow  to  pour  the 
tale  of  his  sorrows  in  other  ears,  yet  he  felt  them  none  the  less 
keenly.  Here,  for  two  months,  again  he  gave  himself  with 
devotedness  to  his  work.  He  longed  to  be  among  the  villagers, 
declaring  to  the  poor  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ,  but  was 
prevented  by  the  incessant  tempests  that  prevailed  during  those 
months.  But  he  was  not  idle,  nor  was  he  employed  merely  in 
his  study.  Every  one  of  those  humble  houses,  could  they  speak, 
would  bear  testimony  to  his  faithfulness.  He  often  visited 
them  one  by  one,  and  sat  down  among  their  inmates  in  all  their 
filth  and  repulsiveness,  and  with  the  simplicity  of  a little  child, 
imparted  to  them  the  words  of  eternal  life.  Those  words  of 
advice,  those  tender  expostulations,  are  still  remembered,  and 
have  been  often  alluded  to  since  his  death,  by  the  bereaved  vil- 
lagers. He  indeed  watched  for  souls,  as  one  that  knew  he 
must  give  account. 

During  those  months  it  was  his  duty  to  make  a most  toilsome 
journey  on  foot  to  Oroomiah.  It  was  the  dead  of  winter.  The 
cold  was  intense.  The  roads  were  unopened,  and  there  was 
liability  to  terrible  tempests.  He  accomplished  it  with  great 
fatigue  and  self-denial,  but  we  heard  from  him  no  whisper  of 
complaint.  It  was  simply  duty,  and  this  settled,  he  went  for- 
ward without  a single  misgiving.  The  snows  having  melted,  he 
again,  but  with  great  difficulty,  on  account  of  the  high  waters, 
was  reunited  to  his  family  in  his  mountain  home.  This  was  to 
him  a most  joyful  event.  So  ardently  was  he  attached  to  the 
field,  he  longed  for  the  day  when  he  would  feel  that  he  was  a 
resident  of  the  mountains,  and  that  his  home  was  with  the  peo- 
ple. During  these  months  he  gave  himself  to  the  study  of  the 
Koordish  language  with  his  wonted  enthusiasm.  He  felt  and 
prayed  that  he  might  one  day  preach  to  the  benighted  Mussel- 
men,  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  and  for  whom  his  sympa- 
thies were  often  tenderly  drawn  out.  During  the  summer  he 
made  a brief  tour  into  the  neighboring  districts  of  Jeloo  and 


12 


Bass,  accomplishing  the  journey,  at  that  early  season,  the  roads 
being  as  yet  unopened,  with  many  trials,  but  he  was  highly  de- 
lighted ; his  acquaintance  with  his  field  was  extended,  his 
attachment  deepened,  and  his  strongest  sympathies  enlisted. 
He  was  also  untiring  in  his  efforts  on  the  plain,  being  instant  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  and  on  the  Sabbath  riding  twenty 
miles  and  preaching  oftentimes  three  sermons.  He  also  gave  a 
portion  of  his  time  to  providing  a more  comfortable  home  for 
his  family.  This  was  a duty,  and  he  gave  himself  to  it  with 
his  accustomed  energy.  He  never  appeared  so  happy  and 
cheerful  in  his  anticipations.  How  often  did  he  cheer  his  own 
heart,  and  that  of  his  associate,  with  the  recognition  of  God’s 
favoring  providences.  How  often  did  his  ever  hopeful  mind 
gladden  itself  as  he  saw  new  tokens  of  good  for  Zion,  and  new 
omens  of  blessing  for  the  mountain  Nestorians. 

Our  dear  brother  was  preparing  a home,  for  as  yet  he  had 
been  a pilgrim ; but  it  was  very  evident  that  he  himself  was 
ripening,  during  those  summer  months,  for  his  home  in  heaven. 
His  brow,  ever  cheerful,  now  wore  a more  thoughtful  aspect. 
An  unusual  gentleness  now  marked  all  his  deportment.  He 
was  much  in  prayer,  and  oftentimes  deeply  absorbed  in  holy 
meditation.  His  conscience,  unusually  tender,  was  now  more 
than  ever  sensitive  to  the  least  failing.  His  ministrations 
were  solemn  and  pungent ; and  though  burdened  with  many 
secular  cares,  we  felt  our  dear  brother  was  maintaining,  from 
day  to  day,  a very  tender  walk  with  God.  Whether  mingling 
in  the  distracting  scenes  of  needful  worldly  cares  in  connection 
with  his  home,  or  in  the  recreations  of  our  evening  walks,  or 
around  our  table,  or  during  the  exercises  of  divine  worship,  we 
felt  that  his  conversation  was  in  heaven,  and  his  life  was  hid 
with  Christ  in  God.  He  seemed  to  have  a very  tender  concern 
for  all  the  members  of  his  family,  conversing  and  praying  with 
them  frequently,  and  over  his  sermons  especially,  exercising  a 
most  careful  watch.  His  words,  during  those  last  months,  were 
fewer  than  usual,  and  marked  by  an  elevated  tone  of  spirituality 
and  heavenly-mindedness. 

He  was  often  accustomed,  during  seasons  of  devout  medita- 
tion, to  write  his  thoughts  on  little  scraps  of  paper,  which  he 


13 


would  afterwards  destroy.  Some  of  these  little  scraps,  written 
during  the  last  months  of  his  life,  found  among  his  papers,  fur- 
nish some  brief  records  of  what  his  feelings  were  during  that 
time.  On  one  is  written  the  following  : “ Grant,  O Lord,  that 
though  all  thy  waves  and  billows  roll  over  me,  my  own  love  to 
thee,  and  my  fellow  men,  may  be  a never-failing  stream.  Purge 
me,  O Lord,  and  make  me  clean.  Let  the  sharp  pruning-knife 
pierce  my  vitals  again,  and  again,  and  again,  but  O let  nothing 
separate  me  from  the  precious  love  of  Jesus.”  And  again  he 
breathes  the  petition,  “ Purge  me.  Let  the  knife  only  bring  me 
to  thee.  Bring  sickness,  poverty,  yet  bring  me  to  thee.” 
Shortly  after  his  arrival  in  Gawar  the  last  time,  he  writes, 
“ Again  I am,  as  it  were,  commencing  my  work  in  Gawar. 
How  shall  I commence  it?  shall  I deny  myself,  take  up  my 
cross  and  follow  Jesus,  and  bring  forth  much  fruit  ? or 
shall  I take  things  easy,  glide  smoothly  in  the  current,  and 
live  a divided, unprofitable  life?  Would  that  I might  remember 
that  every  moment  is  fraught  with  infinite  consequences,  both 
as  respects  my  own  eternity  and  that  of  my  fellow  men,  and 
that  Jesus,  too,  is  ever  near  me  to  see  my  unfaithfulness,  yet  not 
to  leave  or  forsake  me.  O for  a heart  one  with  that  of  Jesus  ! 
I must  strive  for  this  spirit,  not  one  day  or  week,  but  every  day, 
as  long  as  I live.  I am  satisfied  nothing  will  obviate  the  neces- 
sity of  striving  after  God,  in  the  way  of  His  own  appointment.” 
Again  he  writes,  “ Why  should  I ever  lose  the  spirit  and  frame 
of  prayer?  Why  not  always  be  exerting  such  an  influence 
over  my  family  and  those  about  me  ? Wo  be  to  me  if  I ever 
do  any  thing  inconsistent  with  such  an  influence.”  These  brief 
extracts  need  no  comment.  They  show  that  his  mind  was 
wakeful,  watchful,  struggling,  and  in  a frame  uncommonly 
spiritual  and  consecrated.  How  rapidly  was  he  changing  from 
glory  to  glory ! How  near  was  the  great  Refiner  then,  and  how 
choice  and  precious  the  work  he  was  doing ! How  soon  was 
he  to  put  on  the  heavenly ! Our  brother  often  spoke  of  living 
to  a good  old  age  among  his  people,  yet  we  have  reason  to 
believe  that  thoughts  of  his  probable  early  removal,  were  not 
unfrequent  nor  unwelcome  visitors  to  his  bosom.  During  the 
month  of  August,  while  preparing  his  letters  for  the  post, .and 

2 


14 


having  a number  of  unanswered  ones  on  hand,  he  remarked, 
during  one  of  our  ever  delightful  evening  walks,  “ I want  to 
write  up  my  correspondence  this  month,  for  I remember  a 
remark  of  Dr.  Green,  that  a Christian  is  not  ready  to  die  until 
he  has  replied  to  all  his  unanswered  letters.” 

This  remark  seemed  almost  prophetic ; for  scarcely  had  the 
messenger  borne  away  that  packet  of  letters,  breathing,  as  they 
did,  so  much  of  the  tender,  gentle  spirit  of  Christ,  when  our 
dear  brother  was  seized  with  typhus  fever,  which,  in  the  brief 
space  of  eleven  days,  did  its  dreadful  work,  bearing  him  sud- 
denly away,  and  leaving  us  a little  company  of  broken-hearted 
mourners.  O how  very  sudden  and  unexpected  was  that  blow, 
which  bereft  our  dear  sister  of  a tender  and  affectionate  hus- 
band, our  circle  of  one  of  its  most  beloved  members,  our  moun- 
tain field  of  a devoted  missionary,  and  the  poor  Nestorians  of 
a warm-hearted  and  ever  sympathizing,  self-sacrificing  friend ! 
He  was  taken  ill  August  17th.  That  day,  accompanied  by  his 
associate,  he  went  to  see  the  governor  of  the  district,  who  was 
dangerously  ill,  and  returned  by  the  village  of  Chardiwar,  to  see 
a sick  priest,  with  whom  he  conversed  for  some  time,  and  most 
earnestly  plead  with  him  to  be  reconciled  with  God,  and  pre- 
pare for  death  and  eternity.  Thus  the  destroyer  met  him  while 
about  his  Father’s  business.  He  fell  with  his  armor  on.  This 
was  the  last  precious  soul  he  warned  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to 
come.  He  returned  home  that  evening  with  a severe  pain  in 
his  head.  His  disease  crept  upon  him  slowly,  and  did  not 
entirely  prostrate  him  until  a week  after.  Then  its  strides 
were  rapid  and  fearful.  It  was  attended  with  great  stupor  and 
prostration,  and,  in  its  last  stages,  by  delirium.  He  seldom 
spoke,  and  it  was  very  trying  for  him  to  be  conversed  with. 
On  Saturday  evening,  August  26,  our  hearts  were  greatly 
soothed  by  the  arrival  of  our  beloved  physician.  But  it  was  too 
late.  The  fearful  disease  had  done  its  work.  Delirium  soon 
► came  on,  and  during  that  long  night  of  watching,  no  faint  signs 
of  hope  for  the  better  cheered  our  hearts.  The  Sabbath  dawned. 
It  was  a calm,  delightful  morning,  and  at  half-past  seven 
o’clock,  having  given  to  his  beloved  wife  a tender  and  affecting 
recognition,  he  most  gently  and  sweetly  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 


15 


At  one  time  during  his  illness,  he  expressed  fears  that  his  sick- 
ness might  be  unto  death,  but  he  showed  a sweet  spirit  of  resig- 
nation, committing  himself  into  the  hands  of  God. 

On  Sabbath  evening,  just  a week  before  his  death,  he  awoke 
from  sleep,  while,  at  onr  evening  service,  we  were  singing  the 
plaintive  strains  of  Barby  to  the  words, 

“ With  tears  of  anguish  I lament, 

Here  at  thy  feet,  my  God, 

My  passion,  pride,  and  discontent, 

And  vile  ingratitude. 

“ Sure  there  was  ne’er  a heart  so  base, 

So  false  as  mine  has  been ; 

So  faithless  to  its  promises, 

So  prone  to  every  sin. 

“ How  long,  dear  Saviour,  shall  I feel 
These  struggles  in  my  breast  ? 

When  wilt  thou  bow  my  stubborn  will, 

And  give  my  conscience  rest  ? 

“ Break,  sovereign  grace,  0 break  the  charm, 

And  set  the  captive  free ; 

Reveal,  Almighty  God,  thinc-arm, 

And  haste  to  rescue  me.” 

* 

He  joined  us  in  clear,  distinct  tones,  and  after  the  service, 
remarked,  “ I never  heard  music  so  sweet.  It  was  like  the 
music  of  angels.”  Our  dear  brother  had  often  sung  that  tune 
with  us,  but  doubtless  his  mind  was  then  in  a frame  so  heavenly 
and  angelic,  that,  with  a sympathy  not  of  earth,  he  could  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  those  simple  strains  of  music,  and  those  lines 
of  deep,  poetic,  contrite  feeling. 

On  Monday  evening  he  lay  absorbed  in  thought  for  some 
time.  At  length  arousing,  he  said  to  Mrs.  Crane,  “ I have  had 
some  very  sweet  thoughts  of  heaven.”  He  then  requested  her 
to  write  the  words,  “ Heaven,”  “ Jesus  there,”  “ So  holy,”  saying, 
“ These  will  enable  me  to  recall  those  sweet  thoughts.  When 
I am  well  I will  fill  them  out.”  Yes,  dear  departed  brother, 
thou  hast  filled  them  out.  Thou  hast  fully  realized  that  blessed- 


16 


ness  of  which  those  sweet  thoughts  were  the  foretaste.  That 
heaven  thou  hast  now  reached.  That  precious  Saviour  hast 
thou  now  seen.  With  the  beauty  of  holiness  thou  hast  been 
robed. 

These  simple  incidents  give  us  some  faint  glimpses  into  the 
inner  chamber  of  his  thoughts  during  those  days  of  severe  illness. 
The  earthly  was  crumbling  into  ruins;  the  immortal  spirit,  now 
fast  changing  into  the  image  of  its  glorified  Saviour,  was  walk- 
ing along  the  borders  of  the  happy  land,  regaling  itself  with  its 
glorious  visions  of  beauty,  and  its  sweet  songs  of  glory.  Our 
brother  left  us  no  dying  words  ; but  did  we  need  them  ? Since 
we  knew  him,  was  not  his  life  a continual  dying  to  this 
world,  and  all  its  vanities  ? He  did  not,  while  crossing  over  the 
dark  river,  beckon  back  to  us  that  all  was  well,  but  for  a long 
time  all  had  been  well  with  him,  for  he  had  kept  his  lamp 
trimmed  and  his  light  burning.  His  dying  hour  was  not 
attended  with  ecstatic  visions,  but,  while  walking  among  us, 
from  day  to  day,  he  had  the  ornament  of  a meek  and  quiet 
spirit,  and  was  daily  bringing  forth  the  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness. 

The  funeral  services  were  attended  by  a large  concourse  of 
people  in  the  village  church.  Deep  sadness  and  gloom  hung 
over  our  little  village.  The  poor  people  wept  and  sobbed  in 
their  grief.  Many  were  their  expressions  showing  that  they 
felt  our  bereavement  was  tlieifs  also,  one  saying,  “ Our  father 
is  taken  from  us.”  The  poor  widow  smiting  upon  her  breast 
and  saying,  “ He  was  a father  to  my  orphan  boys.”  Each  one 
could  tell  some  word  of  advice  they  had  received  from  his  lips, 
while  yet  living,  and  the  poor  would  tell  of  his  charities,  and 
weep  with  the  consciousness  that  they  had  lost  their  best  earthly 
friend.  Often  during  the  affecting  funeral  services,  the  whole 
assembly  would  break  out  into  weeping  and  sobbing. 

His  grave  is  with  us, — just  on  the  spot  where,  above  all  others, 
we  think  he  would  have  wished  it  to  be.  It  is  at  his  mountain 
home,  on  an  eminence,  — a sacred  spot,  near  the  village  church, 
where  he  often  preached.  It  looks  out  upon  the  beautiful 
plain,  the  scene  of  his  labors,  and  behind  it,  in  sight,  are  the 
lofty,  snow-capped  mountains,  over  which  he  toiled,  and  which 


17 


inclose  the  people  dear  to  his  heart.  The  passing  traveller  ean 
see  it  from  the  great  thoroughfare,  and  it  will  be  a silent  mes- 
senger to  his  soul,  telling  him  of  the  holy,  consecrated  life  of 
him  who  rests  there,  and  bringing  vividly  to  remembrance  his 
many  faithful  instructions,  counsels,  and  warnings.  His  is  the 
first  precious  dust  of  the  Christian  missionary  committed  to  the 
soil  of  Koordistan,  and  for  many  long  years  there  has  not  been, 
save  the  lamented  Dr.  Grant,  so  burning  and  shining  a light  in 
all  those  dark  regions. 

He  has  gone!  But,  blessed  be  God,  he  has  not  left  us  com- 
fortless. He  has  bequeathed  to  us  a fragrant  memory,  and  the 
precious  legacy  of  a holy  character ; and  that  we  may  treasure  up 
this  precious  legacy,  let  us  direct  our  thoughts  to  some  of  those 
prominent,  distinguishing  traits  of  character.  Our  brother  was 
eminently  conscientious.  He  had  a very  tender  conscience,  and 
made  conscience  of  every  thing.  In  the  strict  improvement  of 
his  time,  in  all  his  expenditures,  even  the  smallest,  at  his  meals, 
in  his  studies,  conversation,  recreations,  and  labors,  he  carried 
with  him  a conscience  at  once  tender,  wakeful,  inquiring,  sensi- 
tive. Hence  our  dear  brother’s  religion  was  not  emotional,  or 
fitful,  or  ecstatic.  It  was  a religion  of  principle.  He  aimed  to 
do  his  whole  duty  in  every  thing,  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places. 
He  aimed  habitually  at  completeness  of  Christian  character; 
he  never  professed  to  have  attained.  No  one  knew  better  his 
faults  than  himself,  or  struggled  more  earnestly  to  get  the 
entire  victory.  His  standard  of  holiness  was  high,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  pressing  steadily  toward  it. 

He  was  eminently  truthful.  I do  not  mean  merely  in  his 
words.  His  character  was  eminently  truthful.  He  seemed  to 
have  nothing  to  conceal.  His  life  was  beautiful  with  the  trans- 
parency of  truth.  He  never  would  express  more  than  he  felt. 
He  wished  simply  to  go  for  what  he  was  worth.  There  was 
nothing  assumed.  He  wished  his  outer  life  to  be  only  a fair 
counterpart  of  his  inward  life.  He  would  never  do  or  say, 
what  would  indicate  to  others,  that  he  had  attained  more  than 
he  really  had.  His  words  were  truthful  words.  He  not  only 
did  not  intend  to  exaggerate,  but  in  all  his  statements  and  nar- 
rations, he  did  not  exaggerate.  His  words  were  measured,  and 

2* 


18 


he  knew,  to  be  truthful,  he  must  be  on  his  guard  as  to  what 
impression  others  would  get  from  his  words.  How  beautiful  is 
truth  ! and  how  beautifully  did  it  sparkle,  one  of  the  brightest 
gems  in  our  brother’s  lovely  character ! 

He  was  a noble-hearted  and  generous  Christian.  I know 
not  that  I ever  met  with  any  one  more  free  from  all  that  was 
bigoted,  or  narrow-minded.  If  he  ever  had  them,  he  had  to  a 
great  extent  lost  all  his  denominational  prejudices.  His  ample 
charity  embraced  Christians  of  every  name,  as  brothers  in 
Christ  Jesus.  While  in  America,  a minister  in  the  Presbyterian 
church,  he  was  not  unfrequently  found  in  the  Methodist  Class, 
or  the  Baptist  Experience  Meeting,  relating,  with  others,  what 
the  Lord  had  done  for  his  soul.  He  was  not  afraid  to  examine 
any  theory,  or  investigate  the  tenets  of  any  sect,  however  much 
they  had  been  abused  or  vilified.  He  was  not  ashamed  to  walk 
several  miles  to  meet  and  converse  with  a poor  Methodist 
woman,  eminent  for  holiness,  and  who  hoped  that  she  had 
attained  to  some  degree  of  “ perfect  love.”  He  sought  truth, 
and  he  believed  it  was  to  be  found  in  fragments  among  all 
classes  and  denominations  of  Christians. 

This  trait  of  character  was  marked,  in  that  charitable  spirit 
he  exercised  towards  his  fellow  men.  How  gentle  was  he  to 
their  frailties ! How  ready  ever  to  apologize  for  them,  and  put 
the  best  construction  truth  would  allow  upon  all  their  conduct  1 
How  tender  was  he  of  the  good  name  of  his  brethren  and  asso- 
ciates! I never  knew  him  to  utter  a word  that  could  be  con- 
strued  so  as  to  injure  them.  He  loved  them  as  he  loved  him- 
self. Equally  charitable  was  he  to  the  many  frailties  of  the 
natives  with  whom  he  had  intercourse. 

He  was  generous,  too,  in  his  charities.  There  was  nothing  in 
his  nature  close  or  narrow-hearted.  He  loved  the  poor.  He 
ever  looked  upon  them  with  a pitying  eye,  and  I do  not  believe 
any  one  in  distress  ever  left  his  door  without  invoking  bless- 
ings on  his  head.  He  gave,  too,  in  such  a way,  that  often- 
times the  receiver  could  never  know  whence  his  bounty  came. 
He  gave  from  his  own  self-denials.  He  denied  himself  many 
indulgences,  that  he  might  give  bread  to  the  hungry,  clothing 
to  the  naked,  and  the  gospel  to  the  perishing.  He  practised 


19 


upon  the  principle  that  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive, 
and  that  blessedness  he  experienced. 

He  was  an  humble  and  childlike  Christian.  “ \es,”  said  one 
of  our  helpers  who  knew  him  well,  “ he  was  just  a little  child 
among  us.  One  of  those  little  ones  of  whom  our  Lord  said, 
‘of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.’”  How  precious  such  a 
testimony!  In  what  a simple-hearted,  harmless  manner  did  he 
move  about  among  the  people,  kindly  saluting  them,  visiting 
their  humble  abpdes,  interesting  himself  in  their  trials,  and  like 
a little  child  making  himself  accessible  to  them.  Said  one  of 
our  pious  Nestorians,  “ When  he  would  talk  with  me  about  my 
soul,  he  put  his  arms  about  my  neck,  and  treated  me  like  a 
brother.”  He  did  not  think  of  himself  more  highly  than  he 
ought  to  think.  He  bore  injuries  meekly,  trials  uncomplain- 
ingly. I never  heard  him  speak  one  angry  word,  or  show  any 
bitterness  of  feeling  whatever. 

Our  dear  brother  was  a hopeful  Christian.  I do  not  think  I 
ever  saw  him  discouraged  or  disheartened.  At  least  it  was  but 
for  a moment.  In  all  that  was  trying  and  disheartening  in  our 
work,  he  kept  a cheerful  courage  up.  All  is  bright  to  God, 
he  would  say,  and  then  go  on  his  way  rejoicing.  He  knew  his 
Father  was  at  the  helm.  In  the  darkest  hour  he  trusted,  and 
no  repining  word  ever  escaped  his  lips.  He  had  long  before 
counted  the  cost  of  giving  himself  to  the  missionary  work,  and 
when  trials  came,  they  were  just  what  he  was  waiting  for.  He 
ever  thanked  God  for  the  privilege  of  coming  to  Koordistan. 
He  expected,  he  longed  to  spend  his  life  for  the  Nestorians,  and 
then  to  make  his  grave  among  them. 

Our  brother,  for  one  of  his  early  years  and  limited  experience 
in  the  missionary  work,  had,  in  a marked  manner,  a sanctified 
judgment.  In  action  he  was  quick  and  enthusiastic ; in  delib- 
eration he  was  calm  and  sober.  His  opinions  were  formed  with 
great  care ; and  the  soundness  of  his  views,  and  the  maturity 
displayed  in  some  of  his  papers  prepared  for  the  missionary 
rooms,  had  been  often  remarked  in  our  circle. 

He  was  eminently  a self-denying  Christian.  His  house,  fur- 
niture, dress,  and  his  whole  style  of  living,  illustrated  his  self- 
denying  spirit.  He  denied  himself  many  personal  gratifications, 


that  he  might  devote  himself  more  exclusively  to  his  work,  and 
do  good  to  his  fellow  men.  He  felt  that  since  a large  part  of 
the  funds  of  the  Board  were  not  from  the  abundance  of  the 
wealthy,  but  from  the  poverty  of  the  poor,  he  could  not  be  too 
careful  in  all  his  expenditures.  Ever  generous  to  others,  he  was 
severe  to  himself.  What  to  others  would  have  been  necessaries 
or  conveniences,  were  to  him  luxuries,  and  resolutely  he  refrained 
from  using  them.  He  did  not  feel,  that  because  he  had  made 
the  great  sacrifice  of  leaving  all  that  was  dccy;  to  him  in  his 
native  land,  he  might  here  lay  down  his  cross.  He  even  took  it 
up  more  cheerfully,  and  bore  it  meekly  after  his  suffering  Sav- 
iour. He  denied  himself  many  little  things,  which  a conscience 
less  sensitive  than  his  would  have  overlooked;  and  yet,  with  all 
his  self-denials,  so  slight  were  they  compared  with  the  sacrifices 
of  the  Lord  Jesus,  he  would  often  say  that  he  had  never  yet 
known  what  self-denial  was. 

He  was  eminent  for  that  singleness  of  purpose  with  which  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  missionary  work.  What  he  did,  he  did 
heartily  as  unto  the  Lord.  I do  not  believe  another  will  be 
found  who  will  love  the  poor  mountaineers  more  tenderly,  or 
devote  himself  in  a manner  so  self-sacrificing  to  their  eternal 
interests.  The  fondest  affections  of  his  nature  had  fastened 
upon  the  missionary  work,  and  his  heart,  glowing  as  it  ever  did, 
with  love  to  it,  all  trials  and  self-denials  were  met  with  unusual 
cheerfulness  and  resignation.  One  purpose  absorbed  his  affec- 
tions, summoned  his  energies,  and  that  was,  to  glorify  God,  in 
labors  for  the  salvation  of  the  Nestorians.  To  this  every  thing 
else  was  subordinate.  He  loved  his  friends  devotedly.  As  a 
husband  and  a father  he  was  kind  and  considerate,  but  he  loved 
the  Lord  Jesus  more  than  them  all. 

I might  say  more  of  him  with  whom  I enjoyed  sweet  com- 
munion during  nearly  two  of  the  happiest  years  of  my  life. 
But  it  is  enough.  Would  that  we  might  find  some  relief  for 
our  deeply  stricken  hearts. 

To  you,  dear  sister,  we  turn,  but  it  is  with  the  feeling,  where 
shall  we  find  acceptable  words  with  which  to  soothe  and  solace 
you  in  this  the  hour  of  your  sorest  bereavement?  Ah,  here  we 
feel  entirely  powerless.  You  are  where  our  feeble  sympathies 


21 


can  do  you  but  little  good.  We  would  rather  sit  down  and 
weep  in  silence  with  you.  When  we  think  how  bitter  the  cup 
you  all  alone  have  been  called  to  drink!  When  we  think  how 
suddenly  the  beautiful  stall'  on  which  you  lovingly  leaned,  was 
broken  asunder,  and  in  its  broken  fragments  you  saw  your 
broken  hopes;  and  when  we  think  of  dear  little  Morris,  so 
beautiful  a miniature  of  his  father,  whom  fond  affection  now 
clasped  with  unwonted  tenderness,  as  its  own ; how  he,  too,  that 
same  sad  week,  went  to  the  embraces  of  his  glorified  parent, 
and  you  were  left  all  alone,  O we  feel  that  we  must  be  still  and 
not  intrude  with  our  poor  consolations.  During  these  days  of 
your  sorrow,  heaven  must  have  become  increasingly  dear.  The 
two  dearest  earthly  objects  have  been  transported  there.  Blessed 
be  God,  you  sorrow  not  as  those  who  have  no  hope.  You  have 
the  sweet  assurance  that  all  is  well  with  the  dear  ones  who 
have  gone  before  you.  May  our  ever  sympathizing  Saviour 
most  gently  wipe  away  your  tears  and  bind  up  your  broken 
heart.  He  came  and  took  away  Ilis  precious  prizes,  and  left 
you  no  word  to  unravel  the  mysterious  visitation.  But  He 
says,  “ I will  see  you  again,  and  what  you  know  not  now  you 
shall  know  hereafter.” 

And  we,  the  associates  of  our  beloved  brother,  how  shall  we 
comfort  and  solace  our  own  hearts  ? We  all  felt  that  he  had 
entered  upon  a career  of  great  promise  for  usefulness  among 
the  Nestorians.  His  knowledge  of  the  language  was  accurate, 
and  lie  used  it  ably  and  efficiently.  As  a preacher,  in  his  expo- 
sitions he  was  clear,  fervent,  and  oftentimes  powerful  in  his 
appeals.  In  his  intercourse  with  the  people  he  was  always  kind 
and  conciliatory,  but  never  compromised  with  sin  or  error.  He 
was  eminently  a man  of  the  people.  He  loved  his  study,  he 
loved  his  books,  but  more  than  all,  he  loved  to  preach  Christ  to 
the  masses. 

He  was  fervent  in  the  spirit,  and  taught  diligently  the  things 
of  the  Lord.  We  felt  that  he  would  be  a chosen  instrument  of 
great  good  to  the  Nestorians,  and  as  we  think  of  his  eminent 
qualifications  for  an  efficient  missionary,  of  his  consecrated  life, 
of  all  the  shining  virtues  which  adorned  his  character  ; when  we 
think  of  him  as  a warm-hearted  friend,  and  most  worthy  asso- 


22 


ciate,  we  are  overwhelmed  with  a sense  of  the  heavy,  irreparable 
loss  we  have  sustained.  We  stand  amazed  at  this  strange, 
providential  dealing.  But  it  is  the  Lord,  and  we  thank  Him 
that  He  has  not  left  us  without  consolation.  For  our  beloved 
brother  we  shed  no  sorrowing  tear.  God  took  him  to  Himself. 
He  is  not  here ; he  is  risen.  He  is  still  as  ever  a happy,  minis- 
tering. spirit,  but  now  pure  and  holy.  The  battle  is  fought,  the 
victory  is  won.  He  is  crowned  a king,  and  consecrated  forever 
a priest  unto  God.  While  we  weep,  he  sings  the  song  of  ever- 
lasting joy.  While  we  put  on  sackcloth,  he  the  white  robe  of 
triumph.  While  we  go  mourning  and  disconsolate,  he  ceases 
not,  day  and  night,  to  ascribe  blessing,  and  honor,  and  glory, 
and  power,  unto  Him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  unto  the 
Lamb  forever. 

Shall  we  call  him  back  to  us?  Would  we  have  him  tread 
again  this  vale  of  tears  ? The  river  once  crossed,  would  we 
have  him  pass  again  through  its  cold  waters  ? No,  no.  Stay 
then,  ransomed  of  the  Lord.  Sing  on  thy  glad  song,  for  we  are 
coming  too.  By  God’s  rich  grace  we  hope  to  join  you  in  your 
happy,  eternal  home. 

Beloved  brethren  and  sisters,  let  us  heed  this  most  solemn 
admonition.  It  is  for  us.  We,  too,  are  dying  men.  Are  we 
as  holy  as  we  ought  to  be,  as  we  might  be,  if  we  would  stir  up 
ourselves  to  take  hold  on  God  ? Let  us  be  sober.  Let  us  be 
vigilant.  Let  us  be  instant,  in  season  and  out  of  season.  Let 
us  live  hour  by  hour,  and  moment  by  moment,  our  loins  girded, 
our  lights  burning,  waiting  for  the  coming  of  our  Lord. 

“ Weep  not  for  the  saint  that  ascends 
To  partake  of  the  joys  of  the  sky ; 

Weep  not  for  the  seraph  that  bends 
With  the  worshipping  chorus  on  high ; 

Weep  not  for  the  spirit  now  crowned 
With  the  garland  to  martyrdom  given ; 

O,  weep  not  for  him ; he  has  found 
His  reward  and  refuge  in  heaven. 

“ But  weep  for  their  sorrows,  who  stand 
And  lament  o’er  the  dead  by  his  grave  ; 

Who  sigh  when  they  muse  on  the  land 
Of  their  home  far  away  o’er  the  wave. 


23 


And  weep  for  the  nations  who  dwell 

Where  the  light  of  the  truth  never  shone, 
Where  anthems  of  praise  never  swell, 

And  the  love  of  the  Lamb  is  unknown. 

u Weep  not  for  the  saint  that  ascends 
To  partako  of  the  joys  of  the  sky ; 

Weep  not  for  the  seraph  that  bends 
With  the  worshipping  chorus  on  high  ; 
But  weep  for  the  mourners  who  stand 
By  the  grave  of  their  brother  in  tears, 
And  weep  for  the  people  whose  land 

Still  must  wait  till  the  dayspring  appears. 


r 


